


Soft

by Woofemus



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 00:29:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13399560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: Special Inquisitor Mòrag Ladair, the strongest Driver of the Empire, is inside a mercenary camp that is inside the Urayan Titan, petting a nopon.





	Soft

**Author's Note:**

> no story spoilers but involves a NPC in garfont when you raise your merc level from 3 to 4

Brighid finds Mòrag crouched in the middle of the camp.

And… she’s petting a nopon.

Special Inquisitor Mòrag Ladair, the strongest Driver of the Empire, is inside a mercenary camp that is inside the Urayan Titan, petting a _nopon_.

On a list of things that she never thought she would ever see, Brighid thinks this might just be one that warrants an opening of her eyes. She comes close.

Brighid needs a moment to take in the whole scene. Mòrag, petting a nopon. There’s an odd feeling that feels like something twisting inside of her as she watches the nopon obviously preening under Mòrag’s touch. Unknown to Brighid, the tips of her hair start to glow stronger.

Then, Mòrag slowly looks up at her, and Brighid is sure nothing in all of Alrest could have prepared her for the utterly helpless expression on Mòrag’s face.

“Brighid, I… may require some aid,” she says, voice strained.

Brighid honestly isn’t even sure where to start with that. “For… what?” she decides to go with. Hopefully, whatever excuse Mòrag can give her is enough to warrant something that completely explain this… ridiculousness.

Unfortunately, it’s not Mòrag that answers but the nopon. “Mofufu! Popoh’s fur is so soft and silky that not even Special Inquisitor can keep hands off! Knew it was good idea to do extra careful grooming today!”

There are very few instances where Brighid finds herself completely speechless, but this might also just be one of them.

“I can’t stop petting her,” Mòrag whispers in horrified awe. “Her fur is just… so soft, so luxurious! I’ve never felt anything else like this in all of Alrest! How is this possible?!”  

“ _Lady Mòrag_.” The disapproving way Brighid says her name has Mòrag sending her Blade another helpless look. Brighid can’t help it. There’s nothing else she can even bring herself to say at this point.

“Special Inquisitor can’t keep hands off of Popoh! Hands very strong, too!” Popoh puffs out her chest, one of her wings forming a thumbs-up. “Very high honor, having Special Inquisitor’s hands on Popoh!”

“Never say that again,” Brighid almost snaps, but she doesn’t, because unlike _certain_ people, she still _has_ self-control. Thankfully, but unfortunately, neither Mòrag nor Popoh are paying much attention to her right now.

“You must feel it for yourself, Brighid, this fur is absolutely sublime—”

“ _No_!” Both Mòrag and Popoh look up at her after her outburst. Brighid clears her throat. “I mean, I fear I may… burn such, ah, soft fur.”

Popoh’s wings start fluttering so animatedly that Brighid nearly tugs Mòrag away, afraid her Driver will get hit in the face. “Meh meh meh! Popoh’s fur take very long time to grow and groom! Many, many years of care! Do not want to risk singe or burning!”

If Popoh has the patience for growing and grooming herself, she has the patience to spend a few more years growing out some burnt fur, Brighid thinks, the flames on her arms starting to flicker.

Mòrag smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry, Brighid. I’ll enjoy this opportunity for the both of us.”

_That’s not the thing you should be apologizing for_ , is what Brighid sorely wants to say.

“How long have you been here, Lady Mòrag?” she asks instead.

“Since you’ve gone to see Pyra and Nia for a drink.”

“… it’s been thirty minutes, then.”

“… I know.”

“Have you… tried moving away?”

Mòrag makes a choked sound at the back of her throat, like the throes of an armu fighting for its last dying breath. At least, that’s what Brighid thinks she can describe it as, not that she’s heard a dying armu before. In this lifetime, she should say.

“There’s… a force that keeps me here. I want to pull back, but it’s as if my hand has a mind of its own. Her fur, it tempts me! I… I cannot move away even if I want to! It calls out to me, yearning for my touch.” Mòrag closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I… am weaker than I realize, Brighid. I thought myself higher than base temptations but to lose myself to this…”

All the while throughout her grandiose speech, Mòrag’s hand hasn’t even stopped moving, still petting Popoh, who sounds like she’s purring. It’s not the word Brighid wants to use, but it’s the same idea, as ridiculous as it is.

Do nopon even purr?

… Brighid doesn’t want to know that.

Either way, Brighid’s never quite felt so strong an urge to set something on fire, preferably a nopon, or Mòrag.

She crouches down next to Mòrag with a sigh instead. She’s absolutely sure that the Special Inquisitor’s image is already ruined, and Brighid can no longer pretend Mòrag hasn’t just sat here for the last thirty minutes petting a nopon, of all the things. Really, Brighid should have seen this coming, from the way Mòrag stares at Dromarch sometimes, and how Brighid catches her hand twitching whenever Tora bounces nearby.

At least pet Dromarch or even Tora instead, Brighid thinks as she pretends she isn’t sulking.

It would be easy for Brighid to walk away and leave Mòrag to her own ridiculousness, but it’s the rare soft, openly pleased expression on her Driver’s face that makes her stay.

“Will you be done any time soon, Lady Mòrag?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

“… Lady Mòrag.”

“ _I know_ ,” Mòrag answers so miserably that Brighid can’t help but take pity on her.

They stay there for a long time.


End file.
